Lacus Vitae
by BellatrixLestrangey
Summary: Zombie Azula AU: Caught somewhere on the thin line between life and death, it can go either way. But Azula finds herself much closer on that line to death and is perused by an entity intent on pushing her over that line.
1. Eyes That Only See Fog

_Azula burrowed further into the shadow coverage. It seemed like an odd thing to do—to hide from the darkness using darkness as a cover. But she had no choice. She couldn't let him catch her. If he caught her than everything would be lost. She dared not move. She had worked hard to lose him and she had finally done it. Things have been silent but she could sense that it wouldn't last much longer. But she had nothing to protect herself with, nothing at all. Not even a blanket to toss over her head like a child—she wasn't even lucky enough to have a false sense of protection. She slinks even further back, until she can go no further. Boxes, old furniture, and discarded wood jabs uncomfortably into her spine. She is about to reposition herself when a familiar sound assaults her ears. She goes completely rigid, her stomach knotting with fear beyond all comprehension._

 _It is distant at first, but she could very clearly hear it now. A haunting sound like death itself._

 _Oh yes, she can hear them howling, that shrill macabre wail._

 _She could smell the rot._

 _He is near._

Zuko pulled himself out of bed. He was already having a bad day and he had just opened his eyes. He has been agitated for most of the month and couldn't seem to alleviate the feeling no matter what he tried. But who could blame him, considering the circumstances. He fixed himself a cup of steaming tea and watched the turtle ducks swim across the pond. The pond has always been a source of comfort for him, a shining beacon of light and purity when all else was dismal and tainted. A striking sunrise made it that much better. But even the scenic sight couldn't ease his troubled mind this time. He finished his tea and went off to meet Mai—the pair had a thrilling council meeting ahead of them and he couldn't have been more excited. He laughed sarcastically to himself, he was excited all right, just about as joyful as Mai was on a normal day. He frowned to himself, wishing that he'd taken chamomile tea instead of peppermint—he'd heard from Iroh that chamomile helps with both stress and migraines. And boy was his head killing him. _Then again_ , he mused, _stress is the source of this headache_.

Now with in feet of the meeting room he could hear the sound of one droning monotone voice, already well into some order of business… or off on some tangent that was no more necessary to the meeting than colors were to a blind man. With a drawn out, self-prepping sigh, Zuko pulled one of the double doors open.

"…that's what I suggest any how, in light of mistakes recently made…" The councilman paused. "Ah yes, how good of you to grace us with your company at last, Firelord. I was beginning to think Firelady, Mai is in charge of the nation now."

Zuko waved the bating quip off. "It's a pleasure to be here." He forced out before taking his seat at the end of the table.

"Shall I fill you in?"

For some reason the question flared his annoyance. Perhaps it was the condescending tone. Or maybe it was the way the man stared—as if Zuko were a child who needed a good swat to the rear. He pinched his brow and replied, "no, Quzon, don't fill me in, I'll just rewind time so I can hear your speech in real time."

Quzon scoffed at his sarcasm. Next to him, Mai was frowning—mostly because she simply didn't want to hear the rant a second time, but also at Zuko's short fuse.

With the most insincere smile Zuko had seen in a long while (he cringed at the memories that flooded in), Quzon began to summarize. _Well, summarize is the wrong word_ , Zuko though. The man began to _recite_ everything he'd said prior. "The recent battle was a disaster, Firelord Zuko. A tragedy that did not have to happen at all. That is particularly why we are in attendance today."

Inwardly, Zuko let out a groan. The man's needlessly elegant words were driving him berserk.

"The situation could have been avoided." He remarked redundantly. "We fought a battle over a _misunderstanding_. We need to improve relations between our great nation and the Earth Kingdom. If we cannot manage that then I suspect we will be on war grounds once more. And for what this time? A misplaced cabbage?"

Zuko could practically feel his life force draining from him. A chill ran through him. No…he couldn't feel the life force draining from him. He'd witnessed a fading life force, and this wasn't it.

"Our best bet is to meet with the Earth King himself and…"

Zuko found himself no longer able to focus on all of this dull talk, his mind wandered.

Wandered back to the battle field at the first of the month.

Just as clearly as it was on the day it happened he could tasted the acrid air—smoke of buildings razed and bodies burned. The tang of blood, sweat, and agony. And air of fear and mourning befell a red hazed dawn. The sun beating down on him ferociously, like hell itself rising…maybe it was already risen. He surveyed the death and destruction. It truly had.

But most vividly in his mind's eye he could see a tangle of bodies. A fair sized pile of them thrown atop each other in the haste to make a path for the body carts. Within the pile—not even at the top he caught a glimpse of familiar armor.

Gold. Elegant. Expensive. Armor.

Royal armor.

That was all he could recognize of her. No, there was something else. Her eyes, he knew her eyes. The image was with him forever now; The way her eyes glazed over—and hollow on a corpsely pale face, her cracked lips slightly parted by death's rattle. Most intensely of all, he recalled Azula's bloodied fingers clench. One final post-death twitch.

It haunted him. Left him in a cold sweat.

Through the fog of Quzon's rant he could see those familiar lifeless and cloudy eyes.


	2. A Vow Foreboding

Days seemed to be growing much longer for Zuko. Longer and more draining. He'd noticed the change in himself almost immediately and he knew that the change had begun during that council meeting. He was tired. Exhausted physically and tired of pretending to be joyful at their 'victory' celebrations. More than anything he was jaded to hear that his sister's death was worth said victory—moreover that it was a _small_ price to have paid. Especially since they had just begun to build the frameworks of a more stable relationship.

He hadn't talked to Mai all day.

Hadn't talked to anyone.

And he had no desire to seek out conversation. Even if he did, he wouldn't have had the energy to hold it up. He barely had the drive to do his daily work. The work of a worthy Fire Lord. Hell, he could scarcely scrape up the energy to do the simple things—tidying himself up, eating, and everything else mundane.

The truth was, he had grown depressed—and no amount of his uncle's tea was going to change that.

I didn't help that Mai had made plans months before to visit with her family. He wasn't about to hinder her mood for his own gain.

Sleep. His advisors ordered him to sleep. "A good night of rest will surely make you feel better." At least that's what they had grown adamite about. However, sleep was hard to come by when he had so much guilt and sorrow to bear and a grisly scene to replay over and over in his mind. Even thinking about how he couldn't rid himself of the visual conjured it up again; _her bloody fingers clenching. The liquid falling in slow and sticky drops down her wrist. The death rattle, that last struggled breath._ He shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

Perhaps they were right, perhaps he should at least try to go to sleep.

With heavy eyes and an equally heavy heart, he forced himself up the stairs and down the hall. It was early, but he figured he should retire early since he would be lying awake for some hours before even the faintest trace of sleep would come.

 **.oOo.**

She came to him in the hour of the night that was darkest of all. Her voice crept in like a crackling, misty whisper. There was a distinct flickering of candles and a peculiar chill. She perched herself upon his dresser; looking every bit the same except for her hair being in complete disarray and the corner of her pale mouth trickling a thin line of blood. Her golden eyes bore into him. "You know you can't keep sulking around, doing nothing."

He stared intently at the phantom before him and decided that he truly must be becoming unhinged. He let the specter watch him judgingly. "You can't even say hello Zu-Zu? I came all this way to visit you. I risked a lot. I didn't have to." She came to hover at the foot of the bed. "You know I don't have much longer. So if you want to talk…"

"Why are you here?" He asked at last, his eyes drawn to the puncture wound in her belly. Dark and gaping, pulsating each time she moved.

"To make sure you are okay, I suppose."

"Well I'm not! And this," he motioned to the blood drizzling onto his fine silk sheets, "isn't helping." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "All you're doing is reminding me that you're dead. Dead and not really here."

"Is that right?" Azula asked, giving her smoky hair a quick toss.

Zuko groaned to himself, he couldn't say why he was even giving her the time of day. "It is." The truth was, he missed her. There was so much left to be spoken and so much damage left unrepaired. But this wasn't her. It couldn't be.

"Oh, Zu-Zu. I'm very real."

No matter how closely its speech and appearance resembled Azula, it wasn't her.

It. Wasn't. Her.

Maybe if he said it a thousand times over, he could convince himself one-hundred percent.

At last he snapped. She was still talking away in that slick silky voice he knew so well, when he spoke. "Then prove it! Prove that you're here."

Azula cocked her head as if taken aback by his request. It was as if she really expected him to take her word for it. She was deceptive in life; why would she be any less so in death? He cringed at his own thinking—this was the damage that they had to undo. "Of course." She answered. But then she looked away from him, over her shoulder. "How do you suppose I should do that?" She looked back again, distracted by something he couldn't see. Maybe he wasn't meant to see it.

"I don't know." Zuko grumbled. "You're the one who has to prove yourself, so figure out how to do it."

Other than the word grim, he couldn't describe the look that next passed over her face. "I will, later."

"Later!" Zuko slammed his fist on the dresser. He was thankful that Mai had chosen this week, of all weeks, to visit with her family. God forbid he woke her and she witnessed something like this. She would have him sent away—just how he'd sent Azula away. He flinched. He recovered himself enough to add, "either prove it to me now or don't bother at all."

Azula shut her eyes, clearly frustrated and impatient—he could swear there was an sprinkle of fear as well. "Listen, I have to leave. Now."

"Then do it." Zuko grumbled. He was about to add, "and don't come back," when she cut him short.

"Trust me, it's better for both of us if I do." Azula muttered. "But understand this, I will live again. I'll live again soon, I just have to hold out for another three days." Her body shimmered out, leaving only the final echo of her vow and a feeling of foreboding in the air.


	3. The Face & The Flame

_The new moon was only two days away, three if the current one was to be counted._

 _In her head, Azula recited the rules over again. She may not have been unfortunate enough to die at the month's beginning, when the new moon was furthest away this year. But a little over a week (with three days remaining) was a lot of time to have with nothing to do but run, hide, and hope. In a place where bending was null and creatures were evolved powerfully and grotesquely, what else was there to do?_

" _It is simple really." The welcoming spirit had said when she first materialized. "Everyone who dies in the year of the dragon gets a chance to live again. But no one does." The spirit made off like that was the end of the discussion. But Azula persisted. "The rules are also simple—not that they matter, because you won't make it. You must stay alive, comparatively speaking, until the new moon. And when the new moon comes you best be swimming in the pond nearest to the place where your soul first came to awaken." The spirit chuckled. "Most people who come here don't even know where that is, they were doomed from the start. More doomed from the start than the people who do know it anyways."_

 _Azula hated that cheeky waste of spiritual energy. His gross underestimation of her was just one of many irritants he had to offer. Of course she knew where she was born. All of the Fire Nation's royalty were born on palace grounds. The turtle-duck pond in their back yard was considered sacred—the perfect place for their ancestors to bless their new souls._

 _For that she had mistakenly thought that this would be an easy feat, one that would only be problematic in that she would have nothing to do. Though she hated to admit it, she underestimated this place. Then again, the welcoming spirit didn't bother to mention Bōryoku and its team of Honō-guchi Seishin._

 _She shuddered, thinking again of her first encounter with them. The one that happened only hours after her arrival. She was lingering dully by this world's distorted version of the turtle-duck pond when that hellish wail first harassed her ears, shrill and crackling. And like a thousand cries all at once. But there must have been only four or five beings making the racket. It sounded like death and torment—perhaps they were the cries of the souls that which were devoured. The first one emerged tall and slender, it's skin most alike that of a wholly charred corpse. Its face was barren save for a zigzaged line that she came to know as its mouth. Another creature of the same nature appeared behind it, and then another, and one more. There were probably hundreds more scouting the realm of the dead. But there was only one Bōryoku. This being boasted the body of a man crossed with a red-scaled dragon. Whatever sort of face it had was hidden by a mask not unlike the one her brother adorned himself with as the blue spirit. But this one was red. Red and weeping with genuine festering sores that a mask couldn't possibly have._

 _This ghast lingered in the back as his army marched forward._

 _The first of the Honō-guchi Seishin drew closer. The zigzaggy crack of its mouth opened and then widened some more, displaying a protruding array of torches. Now in much closer proximity, when it let out its horrific screech, she could feel her ears rupture. Fire splayed very nearly across her face._

 _For the first time she felt completely helpless and utterly useless._

 _She bolted._

 _In that dreadful moment, somehow the city she'd known all her life, was impossible to navigate. She knew then and first hand, the power of fear. How it dampens the mind and weakens competence. How it leads to carelessness…_

 _It came as no help that Capital City had undergone a sort of transformation itself. There were things that truly were only recognizable due to a particular landmark. And she was absolutely certain that if she didn't know the place so well, she'd have been lost completely. The only reason she was able to pinpoint her location was because there was a blotch burned into one of the buildings, it was partially covered by a vibrant gold dragon painting. She remembered that it was she and Zuko (as children) who'd burned the building in the first place. They'd received a good scolding. Other than that the world was painted in hues of dark red and black with splotches of gaudy shades of hazy orange. Everything had a fine curl of smoke about it. But the smoke didn't come with the pleasant smell Azula loved—rather the smell of a classic Fire Nation battleground, well-cooked bodies and all else._

 _She ran along a cracked street, stumbling occasionally over a loose chunk of cobblestone. Her hasty sprit offered her a splendid view of houses that had what looked like dragon ribs jutting out of the roofs. Tattered red banners flapped forlornly where there was no wind. Strange rotting plants had the place overtaken—they crept out of cracks and overflowing drainage pipes. There were other oddities; a decayed tree where none should be, a lonely and drooping paper lantern at every street corner, and a steaming crater or two. The noises that came out of those were ungodly._

 _Her least favorite though were the faces. She was looking at the place when she first encountered one. She didn't notice it until it was too late. Of course, she couldn't have—it was hard to notice anything else when looking at the place that used to be her home. The place she longed so much to be at. It was now a monstrosity built of flesh and bone that pulsated like it was alive. It was alive in a way that it should not be. It was breathing and beating…_

 _And she was not._

 _She was well into staring at it when she found her foot wedged into something slimy. Something that made an awful suctiony, mushy noise when she pulled it out. She hissed with pain at the little jabs in her ankle and looked down to find a mess of parallel scratches upon it. On the ground, plastered within the cobblestone was a wrinkled and marred face. And she had just jammed her foot into its mouth. In her shock she backed up into another one, this one screamed when she stepped on it. She could hear the sickly crack of its nose snapping._

 _It had almost gave her away._

 _Almost? No, it did give her away. Its screams drew them in and then it told them which direction she had fled to. She figured it was an eye for an eye kind of deal and had come to find out that it wouldn't have mattered if she stepped on it or if she offered it something to eat. It would have tattled either way. So she was glad that she'd offered it a deal of pain. In fact, she made a habit of offering them swift, hard kicks before they could rat her out._

 _But before she had found out that the face had snitched, she had hidden away in some alleyway and prayed that her persuers wouldn't find her._

 _They did._

 _She could never stay in one place. The length of time she had depended on how much distance she had put between herself and them._

 _She had since grown used to the feeling of uselessness. And to the constant fear and adrenaline. She had grown used to the fear until it dulled and became something else. Something that was nothing more than a jab urging her to hurry the fuck out of wherever she was and get to the next place._

 _Since then she had also learned to manifest herself in the physical realm._

 _Every so often, when the_ _Bōryoku and his army were left furthest behind, she would make her way back to the grotesque palace…would actually venture inside of it and make contact with her darling Zu-Zu._

.oOo.

All Zuko had to look forward to these days was a steaming cup of tea. That morning he decided that he would try to feel some semblance of good. He would go for a walk with his tea in hand. The air was heavy with heat but carried the pleasant scent of firelily and freshly baked goods. He was well outside of the palace confines and well on his way to the much larger pond where many good fishermen made their livings. Though his own turtle-duck pond was nice, he fancied seeing one of a grander scale. Perhaps that would lift his spirits some, he could only hope. He could see it before him now, up close and as grand as he could imagine. He only had to climb his way down a flight of stairs nearly as ancient the volcano itself.

He took the first step, unbeknownst to him, it should have been his last. Those stairs were well on their way to crumbling and had decided that the next person to put weight on them would be the final person to do so. Even lesser known to him, his sister held it up as he ventured down. All he knew of the matter was that there was a thunderous crash as the olden stair well tumbled. A few chunks grazed his cheeks, but Azula had the heaviest of them tossed just to the side—close enough to let him know how very near he was to a death of his own.

He knew one other thing; and that was that he now had another reason to be spiteful towards fate. His peaceful cup of tea at the pond was successfully no longer serene. It was, however, drawn out. The Fire Lord didn't make it home until well past dark only after the towns people decided to investigate the source of the noise and tremble.

The men of the court leapt at this. "This is why we must attend you in your travels." The worst of it; he couldn't even dispute them.

After being lectured for longer than he should have allowed he retreated back into his bedroom. He vowed to stay there for as long as possible. Though it was quite stuffy so he drew open one of the many windows and seated himself. Still reeling over how his day went, he slammed his fist onto the table much harder than he intended. He pulled a book from the shelf just behind him. He found that he could only stare at it. He came to realize that he was reading the same sentence, over and over again, not really comprehending it. He was too lost in his own thoughts. He set the book down, what sense was there in pretending to read it. He stared for some time, at the billowing curtains. Their brilliant red catching in the moonlight with each fabric wave.

He found himself feeling quite tired. Perhaps on this night he would get some well desired sleep…

He awoke to an unpleasant feeling. Something in the air was unsettling and made worse when he realized that it was still dark and his plans for sleep just got shot to hell. She was worse off than the first time she'd appeared to him. Her hair was twice as disheveled and along with the puncture wound was a set of four deep slashes. Her arm bared the faintest of burn marks.

"I do believe that we were in the middle of something." Azula spoke.

He wasn't in the mood. "Why do you only visit at night?"

"For one thing, there are less people up to hear you talking to no one. For seconds, it's easier for me. I don't know why, but it is." Azula shrugged.

"Talking to no one." He repeated. As far as he was concerned she had given him what he needed to know. He would ignore her and go back to bed. He pulled his blankets around himself and rolled to face away from her. He fluffed his pillow once to make his intentions clear.

"Zu-Zu, don't be like that." She frowned.

He snuggled up against the pillow.

"Zuko." She grumbled.

This time he did nothing.

"Fine." She muttered. Growing bored of this game, she ripped the sheets away from him and tossed them well across the room.

Zuko bolted up right, cursing rather loudly.

"If I'm not real, do tell me how that just happened." She gave a smug smile. "You know, I saved your life this morning. You're welcome."

Zuko grumbled and rubbed his temples. "Alright, fine. Let's say I didn't just imagine things. Do something else." He looked about the room. "Light that candle."

The phantom firebender apparated before the candle stick. In the tiniest burst of sapphire, the wick was aglow. Leaving Zuko's mouth agape.

"Why are you here."

"Like I told you. I'm here to make sure you're handling things well." There was something else in her eyes, something despairing. For a moment Zuko didn't think that she was going to say it. "And…I need the company. You don't know what it's like here…" Her hand fell absently upon one of the thick tears in her skin.

"No, I guess I don't." He replied, feeling bad all at once for trying to dismiss her.

She was looking away, staring at the dark of the hallway. "But I never have long enough."

She faded, leaving him alone and thoroughly disturbed. For what reason he didn't know. In her absence he realized he that he had left the window open the balmy breeze it invited didn't mix well with the cool air that lingered after her.

The red fabric flapped like a lonely tongue tasting the night.

 **For reference Bōryoku and the Honō-guchi Seishin are based on the Chinese** _ **X**_ _ **īqìguǐ**_ **and a combination of the** _ **Jùkǒu Guǐ**_ **and the** _ **Dàshì Guǐ.**_ **The first** __ **of the two being a naturally violent and aggressive ghost. The latter of the two being a combination of a ghost with a mouth like torches and ghosts that devour human leftovers/remains.**


	4. Vixen Wail

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* * *

The sky still had some brightness when Azula made her nightly visit. He was thankful for her earlier arrival, he desperately needed the sleep her company deprived him of. But somehow, he thought that the peculiar time was means for concern. This time the princess didn't have much to say, apparently the presence of Zuko alone was well enough. She lingered about looking both ancient and much younger all at once. Her posture was rigid and battle ready but the look in her eyes was timid and fearful. She was toying with her hair—out of anxiety or boredom, he couldn't tell. She seemed worse off somehow, then she was the night before. He realized that the tears in her delicate spirit skin were wider, more angry looking. The soles of her feet were tattered and in shambles. Nothing remained of her armor and the cloth the lie beneath was torn away in places and ripped all over. She had her head turned so that he could only see one side of her face as she peered out of the window.

"I want to come home Zuko." She mumbled.

"You are home." He replied.

"It doesn't look the same. It's…" she trailed off, trying to articulate what she was seeing. "The palace is like a living being, Zu-Zu and I willingly walk into its mouth so that I can get here. This place, from where I am, it looks like the inside of some kind of animal. And it _feels_ like you've been swallowed whole." She paused. "The walls pulse, the floors are wet or slimey…or wet with slime, and there are bones. I think that the throne room is its heart."

Zuko stared at her with a look of puzzlement. "I—I…that sounds awful."

"Yes, quite." She answered.

"So, you really can come back then?" Zuko inquired.

"I can. I just have to avoid them for the rest of tonight and part of tomorrow." She explained. "The pond out front has some special spiritual properties, I dive in and swim and then I resurface in the flesh." She smiled at the thought of feeling her own heartbeat, at the notion of seeing her chest rising and falling—a reminder that she could breathe once more. She looked forward to the feeling of a deep inhale and a slow exhale. The simplicity of seeing color on opaque skin was a heavenly prospect. "It's a long story, it makes sense if you know the whole thing." She brushed a curtain of hair in front of her face and turned to look at him.

"It must be frightening." He said plainly. "All of this. Dying, being stuck here."

She was quiet for a moment. "Very." She stared down at her hands. One heavily lacerated and the other missing a fingernail or two. She leaned her head against the chair and in doing so exposed her cheek. Or what was left of it. Zuko could quite plainly see a set of teeth and the bone of her jaw.

"What happened?" Zuko questioned, taking her abused hand in his own.

"You can see this?" She asked.

He nodded.

"Honō-guchi." She revealed. "I was too close. I felt its fire before I saw it. And then there were more of them. Maybe three or four. They were all ripping a tearing." She pushed up her sleeve to reveal an arm nearly torn away at the elbow. All at once she seemed that much more fragile.

It was a ridiculous response, but he spoke it anyhow. "That must have hurt a lot."

"Yeah." She whispered. She was staring more intensely out of the window. She closed her eyes and shuddered.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Make it quick." Azula replied.

"Can I help you?" She cocked her head curiously and he elaborated, "can I help you get to the pond?"

"I don't think so." Azula answered. "I'm pretty sure I'm on my own."

"There has to be some way." Zuko insisted. The candles on his nightstand sputter and go out. Azula flinches. He doesn't quite understand her reaction until they flicker on again and die out. "Why are they doing that?"

 _Zuko's mouth was moving but she could no longer make out what he was saying over the piercing wails. She knew that she had stayed too long and now she had put him in danger too. They were in the place infecting it with their other-worldly poison. She could gauge from the look on his face that he could sense them, maybe even hear them. She dared a glance into the hallway. A sharp shriek had her falling abruptly back into Zuko's room. She didn't miss the green glow of the spirit fire coming around the corner. She needed to get out of there. But she knew the rules very well; if you can see the glow then its too late already._

 _She chided herself for being so careless. She successfully conversed with Zuko enough times without an issue to get comfortable. She'd become over confident and now it was going to cost her._

" _What is that sound?" She heard Zuko ask. She longed to give him the answer but she hadn't the time. The best thing for her to do would be to take a nice leap from the window, she had nothing to lose after all. But that was just it, it was the best thing for her. They couldn't hurt Zuko in the same way that they hurt her…but they could deal some unspeakable damage, mentally and physically. So she bolted down the hall again. Tense and horrified, Azula ran as fast as she could possibly manage. Each and every harsh footfall sent a bolt of pain flaring up her legs. She could see her bloody footprints on the floor and wondered if the palace was tasting her blood. Did it like the taste? She was overwhelmed by the feeling she was digested within the palace's living walls. Such a sense was only highlighted by the pursuit. The unsettling knowledge that her adrenaline wasn't surged by a thrill to capture but rather to not be captured._

 _Azula had to give herself some credit though—the demons didn't even give Zuko a first glance. She was the only thing they focused on. Her soul. Her spiritual remains. Their fiery maws opened wide. The Bōryoku lingered behind, hovering lazily, waiting for his turn to deal pain as his ghouls feasted on her body._

 _She came to a set of double doors, bolted and pad locked with a special lock that could only be opened through a series of special firebending stances. She worked through them effortlessly. The door to the palace armory creaked open. She thought briefly of hiding out there until the demons had come to pass. She dismissed the idea immediately; they would be able to get to her. She picked up a blade and tested the feel of it. She prayed that these weapons were weapons of the spirit realm—weapons that would work effectively. Azula pricked her finger on its edge and watched a bead of blood trickle down her pointer. If she could hurt her spirit body, she could hurt theirs._

 _That vile green glow appeared in the door way. She supposed that then was as good a time as any to test her luck. With swift hands she cut the being down and sprinted down the hall._

 _She tore down the stairs, her heart, if it could have been, would have been racing much faster. The Honō-guchi were there waiting. A whole horde of them, with the Bōryoku in the center of the swarm. They didn't wait until put her foot on the floor. They simply pounced. Sword or no sword she knew that she'd be taking some damage. There were simply too many of them. Her blade cut through the air with a merciless swish. She twirled it in every direction taking out as many of the Honō-guchi as she could. She had produced a sizable amount of Honō-guchi residue—a fine grey powder with flecks of shimmery green—before they managed to seize her. One clamped down on her good arm, splaying white-hot fire up and down her skin. Its victory screech was somehow more deeply disturbing than its hunting wails. Another took her by the left leg and another on her right. Another victory shriek. High-pitched like the scream of a vixen fox crossed with the mechanical groan of a Fire Nation war ship. Unlike it's hunting cry, there was nothing human about it._

 _The Honō-guchi that had latched itself onto nearly useless arm gave a steady tug. This time the shriek was her own, as her arm severed completely. She may have been dead but lord, the pain. It was crippling and like nothing she'd ever felt before. The sight of a part of her arm not attached to her body…_

 _Her stomach heaved a cruel and mocking left-over human reflex. Part of her was glad that there was nothing in her stomach for it to empty._

 _Azula watched the demon latched onto her leg shake its head aggressively to the left and right like some crazed animal. They were going to rip her apart. This is what the welcoming spirit had meant by, "they devour your soul." She was so close. She only had a few more miserable hours left before she could go home. She cried out in anguish and rage. With nothing left but raw instinct, she took a blind swing of her sword._


	5. The Deeper Down

Zuko grimaced, a harsh chill came through his body and seeped into his bones. He pulled the covers over his head—he wasn't sure if it was an effort to keep out the cold or to hide himself from the ominous feeling that had come over him since Azula's hasty departure. He couldn't even link the feeling to a source, and perhaps that's exactly what made the feeling so portentous. The wind beat furiously on the window, under its airy cry he could hear a faint wailing—perhaps a trick of the ear. Oh God, he hoped it was a trick of the ear. Soon after came a curtain of rain that pelted at the window with such an intensity he wondered if it was trying to get inside. He hadn't seen such a wild storm since he was a boy of ten, on a night when his mother would hold him close and his father would tell him to 'stop being such a girl.' He couldn't help it, he held the blankets tighter and listened to the macabre shouting of nature and whatever that white noise was beneath it.

This kept up for hours and hours until the rain eased into a pittering trickle. He could hear it clearly now. A series of wailing yelps. Some sort victory ritual—whatever they were and wherever they were, they'd caught their prey.

Something about that thought made his brain squirm.

He woke up the next morning awashed in golden sunrays and with a faint residue of terror planted well in his belly. He longed to have Mai back in his bedroom. He felt as though she would act as a sort of Azula repellant. All at once he flinched, wondering how he could possibly think such a thing. Just the night before he was practically begging to help her. Now, in light of a little spook, he was tucking his tail and trying to run.

 _One inhale._

 _One exhale._

 _One inhale._

 _One exhale._

 _That would have been soothing if she didn't have to force it. If she didn't have to pretend that she actually could. She closed her eyes and kept them there. She'd rather do that than take in the spectacle of gore surrounding her._ _Sometime during the night she had thrown herself into a rotting fleshy sculpture of limbs that had grown and fused into one another. The scent of the slow to decay was all around her, masking her own less rotted perfume._

 _She felt a fresh round of tears prickling welling in her eyes. She didn't even realize that her undead body could produce tears. She fought to muffle the sound before she attracted the army that she had just barely managed to escape only hours ago._

 _They knew that she was very nearly able to resurrect. They must, otherwise their pursuit wouldn't have grown any more intense than before. She cursed inwardly, trying to recall her exact location. Was she at the docks by the public swimming pond? Or was she at the coal mine and industrial park—a relic of the 100 year war. She had to be there; through her panicked haste and terrified haze she recalled seeing a smoldering pit as deep as deep goes. She had seen some dastardly wicked glow coming from some core way down beneath. Probably a fire bigger than anything the population of the Fire Nation could spout combined. That could have only been the shaft leading down to the coal mines…rather this world's version of it._

 _When she came to think about it, the waves of heat were tenfold where she lurked. She could feel herself baking. Could see heat blisters accumulating along what was left of her arms. Another muffled sob escaped, leaving behind a jab of dread so intense she would have doubled over if she weren't already lying on her side._

 _She could sense that it was daytime. Of course no light ever filtered in; true daytime was not a think in this purgatory. There was, however, a mist. A smoke that came crawling out of the ground and rolling over the streets so thickly that it blotted out almost all else for about an hour. She called it the morning mist at first. And then to add some morbid humor, started dubbing it as mourning mist. The mist had already curled at her ankles once that day._

 _But it would come again at noon._

 _Noon._

 _It was perfect._

 _She could use that fog as coverage when making her way back to the palace._

 _No, not perfect she realized._

 _She could see them coming, just as little as they could see her. But, she told herself, she could see the glow of their torch teeth and flaming eyes. Her own body didn't emit such a light. Unless auras were to be sensed here, but that was likely a thing of the living._

 _Waiting, Azula decided, was the worst part of any plan. It always has been. In the mind of a chess player, there was nothing worse than that time in between phases…that time where one couldn't possibly know if their plan had a chance of success. That anxioius itch that always came with it was particularly overbearing this time. Because this time it truly was all or nothing; she'd either have another chance at life or some sort of intangible eternal torment. This time she suffered in silence with only mutilated remains for company. Her head rested upon a gnawed thigh as the hours passed agonizingly slow. She was forced to recall how she'd made her escape; a few frenzied and aimless lucky shots. Another chunk of her side singed off by white hot teeth. Her ankle snapping. And lots of running. Running that she couldn't remember through the fuzz in her brain. She didn't want to remember. She attempted to hug her knees to her chest. Her whole body shivered uncontrollably._

 _.oOo._

 _A ghoulish bell tolled thrice and then once more in the distance. Azula recognized it as the cemetery bell, it sounded every time a new soul came to join them. She had picked up on the pattern; one toll for a soul that chooses to pass on, two for a soul that chooses the path Azula did, three if the soul moves on at noon, and four if the soul chooses to fight for another chance at noon._

 _As if to confirm her observation, the fog filtered in through the cracks in the wall of bodies. It was odd to think that somewhere out there, there was a new soul about to start the journey Azula was almost done with. He or she would have it worse. They would be going in blind._

 _She thought fleetingly of helping the poor sap. But resentment kept her from it—no one had come to aid her. Who was she kidding, that was only a part of it. Fear had a firm hold on her too. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she didn't dare sacrifice her only shot at having a free soul. So she told herself that it was a combination of bitterness and a feeling that it wasn't right to tamper with such things. In a world like this, it was every soul to themselves. Something prodded the back of her mind, something that told her that perhaps, she didn't deserve to come back if she couldn't be fucked to try to help the new guy. She buried that something deeper inside. She had no time to dwell on it anyhow._

 _With her remaining arm, she pushed a few carcasses aside and dug her way out of the gory tangle. She emerged with a tumble that lacked any semblance of the grace she was known for. She felt as dead as she was, and was beginning to move like it too. Being out in the open again brought a full-on sense of danger. It was quiet other than the leathery sound of the beating wings of a wolfbat. She crept behind a stack of rusting beams, cautiously she peered around it. The mist was too thick to see anything beyond anyhow, so she decided to throw carefulness to the side. Attentiveness was of no used at this time, everything rested on speed and dumb luck. She crossed her fingers that she died as lucky as she was born._

 _She threw herself out from behind the beams and sprinted as fast as her broken ankle would allow. Decently fast, she decided, so long as she could keep her mind off of the pain. She tore through the industrial park with only a single near mishap; she almost threw herself into the mine shaft. She noticed the faint glow pulsing through the fog at the last minute. Acting on impulse alone, she threw all of her weight backwards. She may have landed on her ass, but that beat landing in a broken heap in the pit and at the mercy of whatever lie down there. She imagined emancipated figures with smooth faces and no need for eyes assaulting her helpless body, dragging it deeper into the furnace…_

 _She shuddered and put the thought out of her mind as she got to her feet and made her way—with a little less speed—around the mine shaft. Between the ailed wailings and groans, she could hear shouts of disappointment echoing from within the mine. Something chucked a lump of coal at her. Truly a sore loser. She had half the mind to flip it off, but the desire to not waste time was infinitely greater._

 _She was lingering just on the edge of town now. Where the houses were becoming denser and the tattered lanterns swayed precariously in the breeze._ _She clenched her fists and took her first step back into Capital City. The only presence on the streets was a fine wind of dust, ash, and ember—still radiating a soft orange. She would think it peaceful if she didn't know any better. But in this Hell, she found herself choking on the flecks that landed in her mouth—just another reflex left over from a time when her lungs still worked._

 _Her footfalls seemed much too loud. Even without shoes it was so dead quiet, that the sound of flesh on stone rebounded between the buildings. She began shifting her weight in odd ways, trying to find some sort of walk that would create less noise and not crack her ankle more. She was almost at the center of town now, the palace was just in sight. She couldn't help but to smile. She could see security and safety. It was within her reach in some regard._

 _Her moment of joy came with immediate regret._

 _She wasn't paying attention._

 _She brought her foot down. And when she did she felt a familiar snap. The face next to it let out a yowl loud enough to reach the bottom of that coal shaft. If it could manage that, then surely it could manage to attract a couple of_ _Honō-guchi._ _"Dammit." She hissed. It clamped down harder. "Fuck!" That awful wailing slapped a new sense of urgency into her. She hoped against all hope that these faces had brains attached to them. "I need to get out of here." Its eyes blinked twice. "I'm going to need you to let go." It blinked dumbly again. "Look, I didn't mean to step on your face. But it's foggy and I'm not used to having faces on the ground…" It had the audacity to roll its droopy eyes. From within the blanket of white smog she was now able to see a dozen green glows. Azula cringed. Without thinking, she knelt down awkwardly and tried beating at its face. As expected, its jaw locked tighter. What she didn't expect, was for it to start gnawing. With no reason to keep quite (other than, perhaps, the illusion of safety), Azula cried out. She hated these things more than the Honō-guchi! Their moans were growing so loud, ear-splittingly so. And from the haze the materialized the Bōryoku himself. His mask of a face adorned with a sadistic grin. A victorious one. Azula had every intention of making that victory grin a premature and short lived one. Biting down hard on her cheek and squeezing her eyes shut she gave her body a hard jerk. "FUCK!"_

 _She fell over in a shrieking mess. She had to get ahold of herself. Which was easier said than done as she stared at her own foot, a few inches away from the rest of her body, as a meal for a hideous face. She hoped with everything she had, that it would choke._

 _She only had one arm and one foot left to work with. She didn't even realize just how hard she was weeping. She didn't even realize she was bawling at all. She only recognized the overpowering despair that came with realizing she wasn't going to get very far with only one foot. But, Lord, did she try. She scuffled on the ground, dragging herself forward little by little until the foot of the Bōryoku came upon her back. She knew that it was going to toy with her. One of the Honō-guchi took hold of her ankle, right where her foot should have met her leg. It tugged her backwards, taking away the few precious inches she had gained. She clawed at the ground, trying desperately to at least hold her spot. Her effort was fruitless though._

 _The Bōryoku knelt down and then got lower still. It looked Azula in the eyes and cocked his head as if fascinated by this woman who had managed to get the better of it for so long. For too long. It offered her a vengeful kick to the face._

 _She pondered what her fate could be. It was probably going to drag her into that coal mine. Or maybe it would pick her to pieces and throw her atop the pile of corpses. Or it could tear her face off and plaster it to the ground. How tragically poetic that would be._

 _She pressed her cheek to the cobblestone, feeling her matted hair fan out around her. She felt so numb and somehow relieved of fear. Perhaps it was the realization that it was over or that she was simply completely exhausted. She would savor that feeling, because it would be the last time she felt something that even vaguely resembled peace. The Bōryoku pushed her hair out of her face. "Why me?" She whispered, despite the knowledge that she'd chosen to make this gamble. "Why me?"_

 _It cupped her chin in its spindly, scaly hands and forced her to look into its eyes. Within them her whole life unfolded. But it was warped and distorted. Her worst moments playing most vividly and her good memories tainted by something she couldn't place. Those good memories looked just as ordinary as any other, but there was somehow a sense of foreboding to them. She watched her childhood self play with a little Zuko, a game of tag. And she noticed it in the corner, a splotchy black shadow watching her. Azula wondered if it had been there the whole time, all her life, following her, waiting. Or if this was some trickery to make the unsettling even more so._

 _She realized that the Bōryoku's hold loosened, noticed that the_ _Honō-guchi backed down. She pretended to watch her life for a few moments more before conjuring up one final burst of energy. With her remaining arm she heaved herself up and used that momentum to propel herself forward. Forward and onto a cart of rotting cabbage. She ignored the squelch the dying vegetable made as her body flopped upon it. She ignored the vile juice that squirted up from it and filled her mouth. Instead she focused on using her good foot to push it through the gates of the palace. They were close behind. One Honō-guchi was always a breath away from closing its maw around her foot._

 _Yet she could hear the ripple of the pond._

Zuko lingered at the edge of the pond where Azula said that she would be. She hadn't come to visit him yet; he didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad omen. He was pacing. Pacing and staring. Staring and praying. He savored the serene sounds that surrounded him; the caw of a tiger-dove and the buzzing of a butterbee and a gentle breeze stirring his hair. It was a beautiful day for a picnic, but he had no one to share it with. More than anything he wanted Mai by his side.

Zuko sauntered over to the edge of the pond. Crystal clear. He could see the sand and tiny pebbles at the bottom and a cluster of fish weaving in and out of kelp and seaweed. He smiled warmly for the first time in ages.

He dipped his hand beneath the surface. Something clamped around his wrist and pulled him in, successfully ruining his optimistic mood. And it the same heartbeat, that something rejuvenated it and amplified it.

Azula's head fell over his shoulder. He felt her take in her first deep and gasping breath. She inhaled it greedily, as if it would be the last time she ever did. He considered that maybe she truly thought that it would be. But the breaths kept coming and he hugged his sister tightly, listening to her soft cries. Cries of relief and vestigial pain.

He pulled her out of the pond and rubbed her back. She was holding him too firmly for him to do anything but. He was growing uncomfortable, but didn't have the heart to push her away or even try to loosen her grip. So he let her cry. Her small figure shaking against him. Somehow, even though uncomfortable, it was a pleasant sensation.

Her body was so warm.

Her body was alive.


	6. Flesh After Rot

The first night was strange. For one, Azula was unused to the sensation of weight. She had it in the Spirit Realm but not in the same sense that she did as a living being. It was a foreign concept to her. Foreign but welcome, she no longer felt as if her body could be swept out of existence. It was odder still to have her arm back. She was so used to it being gone that she sometimes forgot to use it altogether. She held that arm out in front of her, if for no other reason than to make sure it was still there. That it was real. For a considerable amount of time she just laid upon her bed taking in the sound and feeling of her breathing. A generous inhale through the mouth and a gratifying exhale through the nose. With it she felt the accompanying rhythmic beat of her heart. She smiled and set her hand on her chest, feeling it rise and dip. For a better portion of the day, that was all she thought about—breathing. Zuko was breathing, Mai was breathing, her former servants were breathing, but none of them even paid any mind to it. She wondered how that could be. She wondered how long it would take before she stopped relishing in each one.

After some time Azula wandered over to her nightstand. She truly did intend on simply combing her hair and dressing herself. In the end she found herself distracted again. It has been so long since she'd seen herself. Somehow she still expected to look ravaged and dead. Seeing the color on her lips and the faintest pink hue to her cheeks sent prickles of giddy relief buzzing about her mind. Her arms had regained color too—her entire body maintained the warm hue of the living. She put the lipstick in her hand down and her foundation to the side, content to display her natural shades now that she had them once again. Even if no one else took notice of them, she would.

Her eyes glowed vibrantly, unclouded, and lacking signs of fatigue. She picked up her eyeliner, opting to draw more attention to them. She swept a drape of hair over her shoulder, feeling it fall in a silky, unmatted wave. Azula decided that she would leave it loose.

Overall, she was almost inclined to say that she looked more alive than she had before.

She trailed her fingers along her arms, her skin was soft and unblemished by decay. It no longer felt dry and leathery. Nor did it feel disturbingly cold. Quite the opposite really; Azula savored the warmth that rolled off of her body. The heat that was so befitting of her where the chill was uncanny. She peeled her nightgown off and replaced it with her day clothes.

Azula moved to the balcony and overlooked the Capital for the first time since she'd resurrected. She took in a breath of fresh air—a familiar tang of spice tickled her lungs, reminding her that she truly was home and seeing the city as it should be; well kept, bright, and bustling with people. And most importantly, the only faces she could find rested where they should be—upon the heads of the living. All she had to worry about from the ground were a few potholes that she should pester Zuko to have filled.

As if thinking about him had called him, he stood in the doorframe with some fresh smelling bread. It wasn't until the scent met her nose that she noticed the faint pangs in her stomach. She had forgotten what it was like to feel such. "I thought you might be hungry." Zuko offered.

Azula nodded, "a little bit, yes." She accepted the bread.

"And thirsty?" He asked.

"Very." She put aside the bread for a moment, to relieve her dry throat. She wondered how she had managed to neglect such trivial and obvious obligations. The tea sent a welcomed wave of warmness to her core. She set the cup down, "thank you."

"Any time." He smiled. "Mai's gonna be home soon, I think she's bringing TyLee too. I don't know how I'm going to explain this," he motioned to what Azula assumed was her very presence, "to them." He finished. "I don't know how I'm going to explain it to everyone. People don't just come back from…"

"From death." Azula completed what he couldn't seem to. "I'll figure something out, Zu-Zu." She took another bite of the bread, enjoying the fluffy taste of it on her tongue.

"Alright, I don't doubt that. You always do know what to say and when to say it." He squeezed her arm, reminding her of how deprived she'd been of human contact and how much she longed for it. But she didn't have it in her to ask for more, she wasn't one to get all sappy. "While you do that, I'll have the servants cook up a better meal. I just wanted to give you something to hold you over until breakfast is done."

"Yes, please do." Azula replied, nearly finished with the small loaf. Already her mind was wondering. Searching for the right way to reveal her newly reclaimed lifeforce.

.oOo.

Azula combed her fingers through her decently long locks and bit the inside of her cheek. She liked her hair a lot just as it was. Her fingers worked through the tresses with ease. Even so, she picked up her scissors, knowing that it was for the best.

The truth was, she had become so hyper-focused on getting there, that Azula hadn't considered what to do once alive again. Hadn't considered _who_ to be once alive again. The harsher truth was that the world no longer had a place for Azula. Azula, the princess who was literally dead. Supposed to be anyhow and still thought to be. If she was anybody else, a commoner, she could very well take up her genuine identity. But it wasn't so.

She took the blades to her hair, carefully cutting away at the length she so adored. She watched the strands fall to her feet, a graceful callback to the first time she'd chopped her hair.

The world was not ready for the kind of revelation that Zuko was expecting her to deliver. So she wouldn't do it at all. There was nothing people liked less than having what they have already accepted as the truth, questioned. And she wasn't about to become the embodiment of that. The world already thought her cruel. She would rather live a careful and merciful lie than drop a truth so profound.

Azula was nearly done. She felt out the new length of her hair and began evening it out as exactly as she could. The result was decent. The style looked flattering on her, but would certainly take some getting used to. It was odd to feel the airy draft on her neck as she always had hair to shield it from such.

She finally brought herself to look back at the mirror. The woman in it had hair that rested just below the ears, a dark and groomed sweep of it. She'd left her bangs the same, she need some way to recognize this woman as Azula. She touched her cheek just to make sure that her reflection would do the same.

Now all she had to do was come up with a fitting name and a solid explanation as to how she came to live at the palace and why she was staying.

She gazed again, into the mirror. This time she was lost in thought. Mai and TyLee. The Avatar and his friends. She would meet them again. But this time as Arata. Whoever that would be.


End file.
